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So I’ve been seeing a psychologist, haunted as I am by my inner saboteur, a crisis of values that won’t seem to go away, and the pressing need to make big decisions about what I want from my life. And maybe just a little peace, and a break from feeling so guilty and ashamed all the time.

One of the big questions to resolve is to figure out what the saboteur wants, and how or if it should be satisfied.

It gave me some peace to think that maybe, as she suggested, it is not worth listening to at all.

But then, I have had the feeling that if I continue to satisfy it, it has something to teach me.

Allowing myself to fully experience all this quarter life crisis and extended adolescence and sturm und drang should do something for me, hopefully catapult me higher and keep me out of the weeds for good.

It appears that I probably have ADD. It would explain many of my chronic struggles. Funny how people have responded with “me too, everyone has it,” or”that’s a thing psychologists say.”

This has made me feel, well, less guilty as well as providing a missing puzzle piece to the 2nd most pressing of life’s mysteries, “why do I fuck up all the time? ” (second only to the meaning of life).

My suspicion has been that my struggle for the meaning of life has compounded the fucking up all the time times a thousand, and that in the absence of meaning, chaos has been given the driver’s seat and life seems to be an empty circus on a gray day. Midgets on unicycles, but no audience to make it a happy place.

So anyway, my acceptance of the ADD and the idea that my mind is well suited for a(n) (erratic) hunter gatherer rather than a patient (plodding) farmer and works well a lot of the time and is great, but needs to be tended in certain ways to stop it from giving me less choices through fucking up in a not even purposefully self sabotaging way.

Which brings me back to the original point- why do I self sabotage? I would say a top reason is that I find it hard to believe in myself, in my ability to get results, to define values and have faith in something worth doing beyond results, and a revolt against the cult of utility.  It is also a protest against the fact that my values just don’t seem good enough compared to everyone else’s, and I don’t seem to be in touch with my inner desires, inner voice, or inner compass. ALl my compass can tell you is that I got a little confused somewhere along the line, I have sinned in some way, and some of the debaters in my head will tell you one thing while others will tell you something different leaving me caught in perpetual limbo and fuming internally over the fact that my thoughts are never good enough to trump others (pun not intended, but perhaps every now and then we could use a shot of his bravado). Rather than fucking up the world, I fuck myself up, and hope the world will notice I’m miserable, I guess. I always feel like there’s something wrong with me, with my view of things, and I just need to get aligned and get the bones of my psyche cracked into place to go with the program. WIth the program I”ve been socialized and raised and programmed to think is mine, but is actually what everyone else wants from me. I can never lose enough weight, enough mass of critical thinking, to please everyone, so I might as well drop through the floorboards.

Perfect all or nothing thinking. The inner critic perfectionist is who created the saboteur. The saboteur is really anything but freedom from the perfectionist, since the perfectionist seems to offer the only walls solid and strong enough against te saboteur, as well as the sketchy promises of a better future, “someday,” that are the like of addicts and abused spouses everywhere.

But I think the saboteur, and the ADD, the unintiontional sometime saboteur but mostly genius, always looking for more, and even the perfectionist, they point to something I need to learn to love about myself.

My too much ness. My larger than life ambitions. My big thinking and not enough small talk. My refusal to color inside the lines or stick to fucking type A sorority girl corporate bitch Pinterest when I can be a motherfucking mother Goddess archetypal prototype, a statue cast in my own likeness and no one else’s, a work of epic proportions, the mortal inspiration of a monument of gigantic statues and huge morals, a work not meant for the small or silver screen, and much less the tablet and the smart phone. A work of art to be lived among and in the shadow of, to inspire you all of your days, ever in the background like the Tour Eiffel or Washington Monument. A beacon raised against the sky, a burning supernova and not just a twinkly diamond. An Elizabeth Taylor, Greta Garbo, Marilyn Monroe, Cleopatra, Eleanor of Aquitaine, not a Martha Washington, or Audrey Hepburn, Taylor Swift, or Blake Lively. Not a well behaved, blonde, thin, girlish, pretty but not gorgeous, trim, athletic, girl next door young starlet, but a powerful, influential, intense, fiery, force of nature, goddess personality both on and off the screen. Radiant in herself and not in need of limelight.

I was going to say that the too much ness was the confidence to overindulge and sin and be a little slutty and sloppy and disorganized and chaotic and gourmand, but when I started writing, it appeared I was wrong. No, my inner goddess is not a Jennifer Aniston, had her man stolen by Angelina Jolie, hot at whatever age because she eats nothing and remains America’s sweetheart and is famous for being on Friends, nor a Zooey Deschanel who is relatable and quirky with googly eyesand blunt bangs and a believable “strong fmeale lead love interest” for some socially awkward dork. No, mine is a peerless queen, fit only for a fellow force of nature, even if his is the hidden power of a coursing mountain stream hidden deep.

No less than an Old Hollywoord, Old World, Old Kingdom goddess, not a well behaved perpetual girl child, not too intimidating, who tries to stay perpetually young and innocent.

No, the power that should be me doesn’t have a dress size or a winsome cheerfulness, she is delightful, innocent as the ancient stars, mother, maiden warrior, crone, queen.

A woman in all her splendor, timeless, eternal, beautiful.

The kind of “strong” that need be enumerated no more than the tidal wives of the ocean.

A force of nature, able to launch a thousand ships without lifting a finger, to call up a tornado in a whisper.

Not amoral, no, but a little bit of an Ubermensche , having grown beyond the spiritual illnesses and petty fears of her time, not easy to characterize as good or evil according to shallow conventional mores. No, not Machievellian, but just not giving a shit. A woman who has integrated her shadow, and swallowed all its power.

Yes, this is the woman I wanto be. Not a straight A student, not a super mom, not somebody who is known for doing it or having it all. Not a person who can’t make a choice.

Mostly, just a woman, freely and unapolegetically and joyfully herself. And a little bit more.

 

 

 

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